


Yuletide Rendezvous

by EmeraldStormborn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Severus Snape Lives, Shameless Smut, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27813184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldStormborn/pseuds/EmeraldStormborn
Summary: The Minister for Magic schemes to go back in time and provide Severus Snape with the means to survive... and, other things.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 33
Kudos: 243
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Gift Exchange





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [84Reesdy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/84Reesdy/gifts).



> _For the incomparable Reedsy, who is just simply a most fantastic person._
> 
> _Thank you to my beta LunaP999, who happens to know Reedsy well and gave me some pointers in the right direction 😏_

_ Christmas Eve, 2013 _

A knock came at the door.

“Come in,” the Minister for Magic called, her eyes alight with fiery expectation.

Unspeakable Draco Malfoy approached her desk, nodding toward her in greeting. Without preamble, he placed two items onto the Minister’s desk; one of them glinted as the firelight reflected off the gold finish. 

“Thank you,” she said to Draco, resisting the urge to snatch them up and showcase her excitement.

“You owe me; both Astoria and my mum were rather upset when I told them I would miss most of Christmas Eve to finish this project.” Draco crossed his arms and regarded her with solemnity. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“It will,” she replied, eyes intent on the glass vial before her. “I’m sure of it.”

“I hope you’re right.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Happy Christmas, Granger.”

Hermione barely noticed that he’d left. For nearly a year, they had worked to create the items on the desk before her. As Minister for Magic, she had access to more than she’d ever dreamed possible. And her dreams had been incredibly vivid. She fought a wicked shudder of anticipation at the idea of them coming true.

Checking her appearance in the mirror on her desk one last time, she stood and approached the small, golden object next to the vial. The cool metal felt foreign in her hand, even though she’d carried one on her person for an entire year many years ago. Tucking the vial into a special pocket on the inside of her robes that she’d had specially designed for this trip - it was of utmost importance - she grasped the Time-Turner and studied it carefully. Trusting her intense research and calculations, she spun the hourglass over with a deep breath.

* * *

_Christmas Eve, 1994_

Traveling through time, especially through so many years, left one feeling utterly discombobulated. Hermione stumbled against the side of the pub, attempting valiantly to catch her breath. She’d managed to sneak out of the Ministry, but hadn’t trusted herself to Apparate, having not taken into account how winded she’d be by traveling back so far in time. She hoped she wasn’t covered in soot since she’d had to use the Floo; it was essential she look her best for this moment. 

Draco had told her that it was a known fact that Severus Snape could be found at the pub every Christmas Eve. They’d speculated, given that he chaperoned the Yule Ball, that he would have to stay close to Hogwarts and drink at the Three Broomsticks. So much of their calculations had been based on what they knew to be Snape’s habits. 

Pushing the door open, her heart beating wildly beneath her breastbone, she stepped into the Three Broomsticks. 

Madam Rosmerta stared at her with curiosity before waving her in with a warm greeting. Hermione gave a small wave and surveyed the pub, her eyes darting around as she prayed to whatever deity would listen that Snape was there. 

Then, in the shadows, a dark head lifted as he threw back his drink, and quickly motioned for another. 

Hermione nearly faltered in her plan. He was still in his Yule Ball finery, his robes the deepest of black, his cravat loosened only slightly. Her gut clenched as she gazed at him, alive and well just a room’s length away. He would reject her. Draco had said so. He hadn’t believed the plan would work because he was adamant Snape would never warm to her. She wasn’t Snape’s type, Hermione knew that; and she knew he was wary of anyone who would show him a modicum of kindness. But he must accept her. He must. His life depended on it. 

She approached with confidence. He would never believe her if she didn’t have an air of assurance about her. In the last year she’d gained an incredible amount of confidence in her role as Minister for Magic. Surely that would be useful for her in striking up a conversation with the most intimidating man she’d ever met.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked, watching his body tense at her question. _Nice, Hermione,_ she mocked herself, _lead with a route pickup line_. She could’ve kicked herself.

Snape didn’t lift his head. “You must be unaware of my dragonhide boots resting there,” he sneered, staring at the firewhisky in his glass.

Hermione looked down at his boots in the seat opposite him. “Fine boots they are, Professor; but I promise if you take your feet off that stool, you won’t regret it.”

Snape slowly lifted his head, a powerful scowl twisting his features, but Hermione almost cheered when his facial expression changed at the sight of her before him. She was no model for _Witch Weekly_ , but she’d chosen these particular robes to entice, and spent an embarrassing amount of time at the new salon in Diagon Alley to get her hair and makeup just right. She was almost certain Snape wasn’t a man who appreciated artifice, but perhaps she would appeal to him just enough to at least get him talking. 

Slowly, he removed his dragonhide-covered feet from the stool, and she slipped gracefully into the seat opposite him.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and eyed the bottle of firewhisky. Not her favorite, but the liquid courage wouldn’t hurt. “May I share with you?” she asked, nodding toward the bottle. 

Eyes still wary, he waved a hand. An empty glass levitated from the bar to rest before her on the table, and he filled it generously. 

“Who are you?” he asked with suspicion heavy in his voice. His eyes held hers, and she felt the most subtle of touches to her mind.

Breaking his gaze, she sipped at the firewhisky with a coy smile. “I don’t think so, Professor. I will give you any answers you want; you have merely to ask. Do _not_ attempt to take them from me.”

A begrudging respect entered his expression. “Very well. Who are you, and what do you want?”

Hermione felt her heart squeeze at his tone. It was clear he didn’t believe anyone would ever willingly approach him, or merely want to have a drink with him. She would have to tread carefully with her responses. Surface-level, insincere answers would likely make her lose this chance.

“My name is Jean,” she told him. “I’ve been wanting to meet you, and talk to you, for many reasons.” She took a deeper sip of her drink. “I don’t think this is the best place, however. We should go somewhere more private.”

Snape laughed incredulously. “You expect me to take you back to my quarters, someone I just met, who won’t tell me more than her first name?”

“It’d be ideal,” Hermione retorted without thinking, and immediately bit her tongue. Her big, bossy mouth had always been a flaw. _Dammit_ , she cursed to herself. 

Snape’s dark brow arched in waiting for an explanation from her. 

“I apologize,” she murmured. “I have come a long way to find you, and talk to you.” And other things, if it all went well, but her confidence was slipping. “Perhaps Madam Rosmerta can rent me a room, so that we can have some privacy.” 

He stared at her for so long, she was certain he was about to completely eviscerate her. But he didn’t. He stood, grabbed the bottle of firewhisky, and waited next to her chair. 

“Let’s go then,” he agreed.

Hermione didn’t waste time gaping at his agreement. She jumped up from her chair and quickly took care of the room, thanking her lucky stars when he followed closely behind her. 

The room felt warm upon entering; too warm for a lengthy conversation in which she tried to convince him she was from the future and wanted to help him live through the Battle of Hogwarts. Carefully, hearing the clink of the Time-Turner against the potion vial in her inner pocket, she removed her outer robes and laid them carefully across the chaise by the fire. 

When she turned back to Snape, it was to find him descending upon her. He backed her up against the bed, and she squeaked as the backs of her knees hit the bed, causing her to fall backward upon it. She gasped as Snape’s hands captured her wrists and pinned them high above her head, the length of his hard body pressing to hers, the sharp angles of his hips poking into her thighs.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing!” she demanded, even as she reveled in the feel of him. 

“Isn’t this what you want?” he asked, his free hand running down her torso. 

The firewhisky on his breath made her realize that perhaps the one night of the year he got pissed drunk wasn’t the best timing on her part. It was no secret that she’d hoped to be in this position with him at some point during her mission to save him, but not like this. 

“Professor,” she began, eyes popping wide as his lips found her neck. “I need to talk to you!”

“Professor,” he repeated, shoving her curls away from her shoulder so his mouth could attack. “Is that how you know me? Was I your professor?”

She tried to work her head around that. He must be drunk if he thought it possible he’d taught a 34-year old woman, but in actuality he had taught her… Merlin, time travel really was a conundrum. 

Desperate to cover at least the basics before they went down this route, she wriggled one of her hands out from his grasp and tugged at his sleeve, maneuvering the fabric aside until it reached his forearm. His dark mark peeked from beneath the material, and she pressed the edge of it forcefully. 

“I know about your mark!” she cried, bucking her hips up to give her room to shimmy out from beneath him. 

The astonishment on his face was immediate. He stood from the bed, and his hand went to his sleeve.

“Looking for this?” she asked, holding up his wand that she’d slipped out of his sleeve. She’d seen him pull it from that location so many times, it was etched in her memory.

“Give it back,” he roared, surging forward as if he might jump across the bed to get it from her.

Hermione immediately tossed it to him. It was a risky move, but it would speak volumes to him. 

Snape caught his wand and frowned at her intently. 

“You have nothing to fear from me,” she assured him, pulling her own wand out of her thigh holster and laying it on the bed in front of her. “And while I most definitely, wholeheartedly, want what you started, I need to talk to you.”

“You keep saying that,” he groused. With a sigh, he extracted a vial from his robes. From the murky color, she knew it to be a Sobering Draught. He downed it in one swallow, and eyed her with mistrust. “Tell me what you know about this,” he commanded, indicating his covered arm. 

“You may want to sit down,” she cautioned, and motioned him over to a small table with chairs in the corner of the room. He was not happy with her suggestion but did it anyway, to her supreme surprise. 

“If you don’t start talking, I will use Legilimens,” he warned her sternly.

“Temper, temper,” Hermione murmured. His black eyes scorched her. “Patience is a virtue, Professor. Not one of yours, perhaps,” she teased. She thought she saw the ghost of a smirk, but it was highly unlikely, she knew. Forging ahead, she rested both her hands on the table as she began to unravel the future for him, as much as she could without ruining it.

“It’s beginning to tingle; to grow darker, fresher on your skin.” She stared at his arm. “Isn’t it?” 

“It would seem you already know that it is,” he answered. “So?”

“So you know what it means,” she insisted. “You know, Severus.” 

“I have not given you permission to use my given name,” he growled.

“Well, excuse me,” Hermione retorted. She regarded him with impatience. “Fine. If you want me to say it, I will. He’s coming back. He survived, just as you all feared, and by the end of the Triwizard Tournament, he will be back to full power, and that mark will be burning as he summons you.”

Snape glared at her. “How would you know this?”

She took a deep breath. “I am from the future.” 

“Bollocks,” he replied immediately. 

Of course he would doubt her. Anyone would, but especially this haunted man. Hermione stood, ignoring his flinch, and stalked to her robes. Her hand closed about the Time-Turner, and she held it up for him to see. 

“How far in the future?” he asked, staring at the sand in the center. 

“Too far for comfort,” Hermione returned, a chill running down her spine. “Please trust me on this one thing: I have risked much to come here, and to tell you these things.”

Whatever he’d seen in her features, it must have convinced him. He nodded and motioned for her to return to the table. She replaced the Time-Turner and rejoined him.

“I am going to reveal as much as I can without destroying the timeline. Please don’t press me, Professor. Just listen. I just need you to listen.” She cringed at the desperation in her voice. 

Remarkably, his hand covered hers. Her shocked eyes met his gaze, and she felt newfound strength fill her. 

“He’s coming back, and he’s going to call on you. You will be essential in this war; essential to both sides.” She stared off to the side, not willing to look into his eyes as she told him about his fate. 

“Jean,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I always knew this was a possibility. And, if I’m gauging the look on your face correctly, then I knew the next part was a possibility as well. Dumbledore is always poetic in his notions of the Greater Good,” he concluded sardonically. 

Hermione bit her lower lip and fought the emotions rising to the surface. She’d watched this man bleed out right before her eyes. She hadn’t come this far for nothing. 

“I came to warn you,” she told him, her eyes meeting his. “To save you.”

“I surmised as much,” he mocked lightly. “My only question should be obvious. Why?”

In that moment, Hermione wanted him to cast Legilimens and find the answer for himself. It would be easier. All of it would have been easier, and she’d considered it often as a possible loophole, but she’d never been gifted enough with Occlumency to only provide him certain information and not the entire picture of the future. She wanted him to see and feel how guilty she felt that she couldn’t save him. She wanted to show him how his sacrifice had turned the tide in the war; how they’d won, but lost so many. She wanted to show him how lonely she’d been in her eighth year at Hogwarts, how McGonagall had let her study in the Headmaster’s office, and how she’d badgered Snape’s portrait into becoming friends with her. She wanted to show him how lonely she’d continued to be after leaving Hogwarts, marrying Ron the international Quidditch star, and focusing on her career, only to be chosen as Minister for Magic shortly before a nasty divorce. 

She didn’t exactly want him to see how the do-gooder Hermione Granger had abused some of her Ministerial powers in an effort to save Snape’s life, hoping against hope she wouldn’t be so desperately lonely anymore. 

“I’m pathetic,” she murmured out loud, the realization hitting her stark in the face. This entire plan was foolhardy and deranged. 

“Jean.” Snape squeezed her hand. He actually seemed concerned about her. She knew that deep within him was a vulnerable man, drowning in the same loneliness she had felt most of her adult life. 

“I can’t give you a coherent answer on that,” she finally said. “You just… didn’t deserve to die. You never deserved to die. You are an incredible man, Severus Snape. And I’ve traveled so far to be able to give you this.”

She stood once more and went to her robes. Her fist closed around the vial of antivenin, painstakingly crafted by Draco and herself over the course of many months. She breathed in deeply and extracted it from her robes, and handed it with utmost reverence to Snape. 

“Keep this on you at all times, do you understand me?” She closed his fist around it and pressed her fingers over his. “Never, ever take it out of your robes.”

Snape stared at their hands. “What is it?”

Hermione worried giving him too much information would dangerously alter the future. She sighed and squeezed her hand around his fist. “I can’t tell you, but you will know when it’s time. Just promise me you will never take it out of your robes.” When he didn’t answer right away, she placed her hand on his jaw and urged him, “Promise me!”

Snape stood before her, and carefully placed the vial inside his robes, his eyes never leaving hers. “I promise,” he vowed.

She felt relief wash over her. It was done. She’d accomplished what she came to do. 

“There is something else you hoped for, was there not?” Snape asked, his finger tilting her chin up toward him. 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. “Yes,” she whispered.

He studied her for what felt like endless moments. His thumb stroked over her cheekbone and he began backing her toward the bed. “Remove all of this,” he requested, and she assumed he was referring to the charms beautifying her face. 

“I can’t,” she protested with an apologetic look. “It’s necessary, for now.”

He halted their movement at the edge of the bed. “This, then,” he compromised, his fingers whispering over the sweetheart neckline of her dress. He watched with hooded eyes as she reached behind her and drew the zipper down, and then he helped her draw it down over her shoulders. 

Hermione could tell from his expression that he was fighting his better judgement about engaging with a complete stranger this way. She knew it was difficult for him to let his guard down, and she wished with all of her being she could blurt out all of her secrets to put him more at ease; though it was highly unlikely any of it would put him at ease, given the circumstances. 

His eyes lingered on her matching lingerie set, a rather presumptuous and arrogant purchase on her part, but seeing the heat in his eyes as he took in the sight of her barely covered by mere slips of Slytherin green fabric made her glad she’d taken the chance. 

She reached for his robes and slipped them off, carefully laying them on the chair nearby as it held the precious vial she’d delivered to him, and then returned to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him. He was stock-still as she reached for his trousers and began unbuttoning them, biting her lip as she focused on her task. 

“Sweet Circe,” she gasped quietly as his engorged length fell into her hands. Despite his unease, he was very interested in what was happening. She stared up at him in amazement. “I dreamed of you this way, but never expected anything this grand.”

Snape snorted in clear disbelief, but he caressed her curls and she could feel some of his anxiety ebb away. “What a mystery you are.”

Hermione gifted him a secret smile before tracing the trail of hair leading down his abdomen. She pressed her lips to the sharp angles of his hip bones as her arms circled him and found the firm muscles of his ass. She tugged him closer, wrapping a hand around his cock as her tongue darted out for her first taste of him.

“Fucking hell,” he grit out through clenched teeth. His hands burrowed in her curls, tightening into the thick mane as a look of pure ecstasy etched into his face. 

His head fell back, eyes tightly closed, as his hips arched forward with her movements. She swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, alternatively sucking him powerfully and squeezing her hand around his shaft. 

As his hips began to move more erratically, Hermione pulled back and stood before him. 

“Will you take me? I could worship you with my mouth all night, but I confess I’m rather eager to feel you inside of me.” She ran a finger down his length with a teasing smile. She’d never been so bold, but she had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Her mounting hunger for him had banished all fear of rejection, and released the wanton deep inside who wanted to be thoroughly bedded by her former Potions Master.

A growl was the only response she received before he scooped her up and pressed her down onto the bed. He stripped her knickers and bra from her body so swiftly it could have been magic for all she knew. His hungry gaze and swift intake of breath thrilled her; his molten gaze moved over her face, her mouth, the line of her throat, the peaks of her breasts, the juncture of her thighs. Everywhere his eyes touched she felt as if electricity were pulsing against her. 

Snape knelt between her legs and reached beneath her to lift her torso to his hungry mouth, bending her backward so that he could taste her breasts. She clutched desperately to his shoulders as each strong pull of his mouth sent a jolt straight to her core. She could feel how incredibly wet she was becoming as her thighs clenched eagerly around his own. 

Hermione gripped his face in her hands and claimed his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. She couldn’t get enough of him. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she could have come just from the fervent dueling of their tongues. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her over him, never breaking their kiss as he pressed at her entrance. 

She moaned into his mouth as Snape reached between them to guide the thick head of his cock into her wet heat. The feel of him sent her into a frenzy, and she undulated her hips as she sank down on top of him. They moved as one, chest-to-chest, arms wrapped tightly around each other as they moved in perfect rhythm, just as she’d dreamed. 

As she neared completion, Snape reached between them and rubbed insistently at her taught bud, and the combination of his ministrations and his thick shaft surging into her ever quicker had her seeing stars. She shuddered atop him and held on for dear life as he reached orgasm, warmth filling her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered against his shoulder, clinging to him. The sound of his labored breathing in her ear made her heart ache. Her plan had to work. He had to be alive in the future. 

She awoke a couple of hours later, the fire having died down to embers. He watched her pensively as she dressed and pulled out the Time-Turner, the sheet hugging his waist.

“Remember your promise,” she reminded him, only spinning the hourglass after receiving a solemn nod in response. 

Gods, she’d spent all of this time hoping he’d be alive in the future. Now she prayed her rule-breaking wouldn’t mean her own demise. The world started spinning, and she lost all thought.


	2. Part Two

_ Christmas Day, 2013 _

Severus smirked down at the piece of parchment in his hands. 

He had been summoned to an appointment with the Minister for Magic, Hermione Jean Granger, and on Christmas Day, no less.

It was about damn time. Time, ever his enemy, had dragged on the past fifteen years. He wished time paradoxes weren’t so stringent, but it had become clear to him rather quickly that he couldn’t let anyone know of his survival until the time was right. Especially her, his savior.

As any Potions Master might do, after Jean had left him that fateful night, he’d begun research to discover the secret behind what was in the vial. Rather surprisingly, he’d believed every word of her story, and enjoyed his time with her very much - but he still had trust issues, and there was no way he would ever consume anything of which he didn’t know the origin. He’d uncovered the compounds quite coincidentally around the time Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagini at the Ministry almost a year later, and had been able to recreate it well enough to save the man’s life. 

It was obvious that Nagini would be the one to end his life, too; and he kept his promise and held onto Jean’s vial at all times, never knowing when the strike would come.

He thought often of Jean and knew that she was familiar somehow, and yet he couldn’t put his finger on it until he was on death’s doorstep. As he lay there, letting his memories flow, he looked into the troubled brown eyes of Hermione Granger. She appeared much-aggrieved, which befuddled him since he’d treated her so terribly over the years. Potter, too, was visibly shaken by watching him die, though death in general was uncomfortable to witness, even if you weren’t fond of the one dying. But as he studied Granger’s eyes, he’d felt an eerie familiarity. He’d seen those eyes before, he knew the golden flecks that caught the firelight just so. He wanted to call out as they left, make her stay so he could make the connection with those eyes. 

It was those eyes, and the connection he made that Jean was in fact Hermione Jean Granger, that rocked him out of the oncoming paralyzation and had him pulling out the vial of antivenom with trembling hands. It began to work almost immediately after he upended it into his mouth, and he hurriedly drank other potions he’d decided to carry with him, including a Blood Replenishing Potion that helped him regain enough strength to Apparate to a Muggle hospital. 

He was thankful, looking back, that he’d had the wherewithal to conceal his continued existence. The memorials of his death were laughable and it took considerable effort not to reveal himself just to silence them all, especially once some of the information from the memories he’d given to Potter came to light. He very well could have stayed in hiding the rest of his life based on that alone.

Living in a small, little known village in Lithuania, operating a successful mail order Potions company under a pseudonym, he rarely stayed connected to Britain’s magical community, except for the odd __Quibbler__ issue he would pick up from time to time. 

A year previously, he was shocked to see the face of his Jean on the cover of the __Quibbler__. Hermione Jean Granger had taken office as Minister for Magic after studiously working her way through the ranks. He’d known, since looking into her eyes as his life slipped away, that it had been her. It unsettled him and rattled him. But everything he’d felt since spending the evening with her all those years ago came rushing back as he saw her mature, confident face on the news article. It wouldn’t be long now that she would go back in time to give him the means to save himself.

Begrudgingly, he’d subscribed to the __Quibbler__ and the __Daily Prophet__. It was only a few weeks into her tenure that it was announced Hermione and her husband Ronald Weasley were divorcing. The utter tripe the Daily Prophet published had his anger roiling; the pictures of her harrowed expressions as the reporters surely hounded her had every protective instinct within him snapping to the surface. 

Soon, so very soon, he would be able to go to her. Reassure her. Relieve her. Appreciate her in a way that dolt Weasley surely never had. 

He set down the summons and went to the shower. His reunion with his savior required his best.

* * *

The Ministry was empty. He expected nothing less, it being Christmas Day, and not normally a day when appointments were kept. It mattered not, as he knew his way, and with each step toward the Minister’s office, anticipation zinged through his body. She wanted him, he knew that with an absolute certainty. And though he hadn’t remained completely celibate over the past fifteen years, she was all he’d ever really wanted in the years following the war. Someone who’d cared enough about him to risk everything to save his life was someone he wanted next to him.

He knocked on the great oak doors, and they swung open slowly. He billowed through them, but came to a halt when he saw her feminine form outlined by the fire next to her desk. She stood in front of it, a glass of firewhisky in her hand, wearing a prim skirt and blouse. Her hair hung down around her shoulders, and her gaze lifted from the firelight to him.

“Professor Snape. Thank you for coming,” she voiced, all professionalism.

Severus stalked forward slowly, attempting to ignore his heart thudding painfully in his chest. “It’s my pleasure, Jean.” He came to a halt before the chairs facing her desk. “Or perhaps you prefer Minister Granger.”

A self-deprecating smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I’d bet a few galleons it didn’t take you long to figure it out.”

He inclined his head to her. “You would win that bet.”

She held out the glass of firewhisky to him. “For you.”

Severus took it from her with a raised brow. She filled another and clinked it against his. 

“To your continued health,” she cheered, knocking back the glass in one gulp.

He reached past her to set the glass on her desk, and stood a hair's breadth away from her as he gazed into the deep pools of her eyes. “There is much more than that I would like to continue,” he murmured, his hands coming to rest lightly on her waist.

He felt the tension ease out of her small frame, her eyes open and vulnerable as she peered up at him. “Really? Even though I’m… me?” she asked, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

Severus grinned wolfishly at her. “Particularly because you’re you,” he assured her, lowering his head to press a kiss to her neck. “Who else but the Brightest Witch of Her Age would be bold enough, intelligent enough, and compassionate enough to save me?”

“May I call you Severus now?” she whispered as her hands sank into his hair. 

“I prefer ‘Sir’ for this next part,” he growled against her neck.

If it hadn’t been empty because of Christmas, the entire Ministry would’ve heard the pleasured screams from the Minister for Magic as the alive and well Severus Snape took her on her desk.


End file.
